Subject 13's Butler: His Doctor, Recruiting
by AoUsagi
Summary: The compilation of stories detailing how Doctor Sebastian Michaelis recruited the trio of unlikely medical prodigies into becoming the medical team of the young Ciel Phantomhive. Subject 13's Butler verse, side stories.
1. Part One: Bardroy Atkins-Brown

**.:SUBJECT 13'S BUTLER:.**

 _ **-His Doctor, Recruiting-**_

 **PART 1:**

 **Bardroy Atkins-Brown, Field Doctor.**

* * *

The phone was ringing.

It kept ringing, quite oblivious to the only occupant of the small apartment's groans and sighs as he rolled over, roused from his slumber, only to tumble right off the couch to the thinly carpeted floor below. Pain lanced through his shoulder, through the place where the scar of the old wound still sometimes bothered him, and with that, Bardroy Atkins-Brown was officially awake.

And surprisingly enough, the phone was still insistently ringing.

Another groan, another grumble, and several grunts of effort later, the blonde twenty-six year old hauled himself up off the floor and into a technically upright position. His chest and feet were bare, and he wore a faded pair of blue jeans with a rip in one knee. There was more than one scar on his pallid torso – a couple long scraping scars, and two puckered, numb thumb-print sized scars on his right shoulder; all had little white dots surrounding them from where he'd been hastily patched together by the on-site medic, but it was the two bullet-hole scars which always bothered him the most.

He snatched up a battered, half-empty box of cigarettes from the arm of the couch at his side, and tucked one of the tobacco sticks between his teeth. The phone had stopped ringing by now – as Bardroy lit up his smoke, the caller began leaving a recorded message; it took a moment for him to blurrily recognize who it was, but he chuckled callously to himself as he shook his head, half-listening to the words. Of course. How could he forget? There was no one else in all of England who had such a flawless, incredibly crisp English accent, with deep, dulcet tones and a rich note to their voice.

" _Bardroy,_ " the caller began. " _I know it's been a couple of years since we've spoken – but I was told that you've recently returned to London from your work overseas. Listen, I know it's a lot to ask, but I need your help. You saw me through medical school and all the way throughout our combined efforts in Africa – and now I need your insight and perception again. I don't know if you know, but I've been working in the private sector of the Karnstein's Children's Hospital for the last two and a half years – however this particular case and contract has brought me to a standstill. You see, there's a child, and he's…_ "

The words drifted through Bard's ears. He heard the voice, he heard the words being said, but after the mention of Africa his mind began to wander. Had it really been nearly three years? Of course, that's right. Deployment almost immediately after graduating medical school at the age of twenty-two and straight into the army medical department. Far out, he'd come a long way quickly. Shunted two years ahead of his peers in high school and graduating at sixteen. What had his uncle dictated he study at university? Medical sciences. End of discussion. No bastard child of his uncle's brother was going to be a pansy chef or barrister. No – Bardroy was going to do something useful with his life and that was that.

Africa, wasn't it? The most useful years of his life, Bard knew, had been out there, in the sand and the jungle undergrowth, crawling on his belly, medical supplies lashed to his back, trying to avoid any guerilla soldiers. War was a funny business, Bard supposed. His job was to heal those victims caught in the crossfire, and try not to die himself. Initially, the thought had terrified him. Going into unknown territory? Tending to sick and wounded villages and soldiers alike, not knowing when the next air strike might hit? Stupid. Ridiculous. Field doctors were expendable, however, and so Bardroy had been deployed with a team of others to set up within a war-torn village and give medical attention to those who needed it the most. Often, the team would have to move – going from tiny village to the next was often a long, arduous journey, trekking through humid jungles, arid wastelands of rock and sand and blistering heat. Despite being guarded at all times by a small troop, Bardroy was hardly surprised when he figured out that, no matter where they went, if they were on the move, they were sitting ducks. The days traveling were spent moving with nervous adrenaline and constant, fearful glances over shoulders. Then again, even if they hadn't been ambushed, there was always the possibility of disease and injury that could kill any of them. Ironically, he had been one of three doctors out of twenty who had been deployed to survive – all the troops of their platoon had been killed, and it had been a desperate race of drop everything and run for the nearest ally supply point.

Even then, he sighed as he remembered, he had been the only one to return home. Did he consider himself lucky? No, of course not. He'd seen hell, felt hell's blood on his hands, stitched hell's sordid wounds and swabbed them as best he could. He'd given the dying hope when he knew there was no way of saving them. He'd sat beside cots in the medical tents at night, holding the hands of the sickly and dying, muttering prayers or trying to cheer his patients with jokes and stories. But in the end, everyone around him had died. In the last leg of the dash to the supply point which was give him and his two fellow comrades a chance of escaping and being extracted, guards attending the supply checkpoints post had mistaken them for enemy deserters. Only one of his comrades had been killed, though. The other, once they were safely within the checkpoints walls and safely assuring the guards they were both on the same side, had taken his own life, unable to deal with the overwhelming trauma of seeing such a bloodbath they'd just barely managed to escape from.

Bardroy, it seemed, always ended up as the only one left.

He'd been sent home on the very next helicopter out of the war zone, back to the base station and from there had been shipped right back to England on the next plane. His injuries had been treated, having taken two shots to the shoulder in the escape from the jungle from a guerilla fighter. The others scars he'd accumulated over the two or so year's he'd spent working in the war zone, and most of them were well on their way to healing. Once back in England, however, wounds that were less obvious were beginning to fester.

Bard had gone from one psychologist to the next, trying to understand all the nightmares, his lack of appetite, his inability to focus and his need to rush everything he did. Cooking was a disaster, everything all over the place and nothing ever served. Too many clothes in the dryer at once, overloading it. Running from place to place, fearful of being late. But every single person he spoke to had the same response after hearing his story: post traumatic stress disorder. Each had prescribed him different anti-anxiety meds, and each of them had then sent him on his way with best wishes and instructions to come back if the doses weren't working out. He'd finally given up on going back to them – they weren't doing much more than giving him drugs to screw around with his brain's already messed up chemical balances.

The apartment was quiet now; the recorded message had finished without him even noticing. He'd been too busy thinking over the nightmare he woke from each and every night. Why did he keep surviving? Why did he somehow manage to avoid the worst of everything, but what he was left with was, in the end, nothing? What was it that kept him here?

Shaking his head of the thoughts, Bardroy sighed and trudged over to the phone – the handset sat on the dining table next to an untouched apple and three assorted bottles of half-finished medications. He stared numbly at the little red blinking light of the answering machine for a moment, before he lifted a hand and hit redial, turning on the speaker and not bothering to replay the message.

After three rings, the call was answered.

" _Bardroy?_ " the deep, rich tone greeted him.

"Hey. You called?"

" _Yes – I tried about ten minutes ago but got no answer. Did you get my message?_ "

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Didn't really listen to it though. Wanna tell me what you want?"

" _You're not sounding so good, old friend – have you been all right since you got back from Africa?_ "

"Waddaya want, Michaelis?" Bard snapped irritably. He did _not_ want to have to go through this. Not this morning.

There was a crackle over the line as the voice on the other end sighed.

" _Well, since I returned from my travels and have been working via private contracts here at the Karnstein Hospital –_ "

"Bloody hell, you're so good you work private contracts now?!"

" _Erm, yes – in any case, I have one case at the moment in particular which I could use your insight in._ "

Bardroy raised an eyebrow as he leant against the kitchen counter and gazed out the window; the view from his apartment gave him a nice view of the city around him, but it became quite boring after a while. "Eh? Since when has the great and amazing Sebastian Michaelis needed my input?"

On the other end, Sebastian Michaelis chuckled modestly. " _You have much greater intuition than I do, Bardroy – your foresight and perception saved my ass more than once when we were out in the war zone_."

"Before you decided to go on vacation."

" _I was forcefully extracted, Bardroy, you know that. I hate to say it but the war zone was really no place for me once I took that bullet during the raid that night."_

Bard stopped himself – oh yeah. In all the turmoil, he'd completely forgotten. This man was the one who'd put himself between an enemy platoon full of firearms and a camp full of wounded soldiers. Gods, Michaelis was barely twenty-four this spring, and the time they spent working side by side in Africa had been a good two and a half to three years ago now. Christ – he remembered seeing it happen from one of the tents, Michaelis standing stalwart against all odds without a weapon on his person – but he could only imagine how it much have felt to be in the guy's shoes. A war hero was putting it lightly, but Michaelis had been shipped out and back to safe territory to recover after he'd taken a stray bullet from a trigger-happy enemy in the gut. That was the end of Sebastian Michaelis' field service.

"Shit. Forgot. Sorry."

" _Heh – please, there's no need for an apology. I know you're struggling right now, but the distraction might be good for you. This case I'm in at the moment is indeed a serious one, and I've gathered a medical team of two others to assist me._ "

"Yeah? So what d'ya need me for?" the blonde asked skeptically.

" _I've already told you. Intuition. Survival. Perception._ "

"What's survival got t'do with this kid?"

" _What are his chances of surviving if I do not have the best of the best at my side should I make a mistake, Bardroy?_ " the smooth voice questioned in retaliation to Bard's. It took Bard a moment.

"Uh…dead? Wait, hold on! Waddaya mean, 'best of the best'?!"

There was a light chuckle over the line, and with a growl Bardroy knew he'd been won over. And the bastard hadn't even said please. Damn, the blonde cursed himself silently. He had to stop being such a pushover.

" _Shall I take it I'll see you at the Hospital sometime this week, in that case?_ "

Bardroy rolled his eyes, and blew out a long wispy grey stream of smoke from between his lips as the cigarette chomped between his teeth smoldered brightly. "Yeah, yeah you can take it as that. Is this an emergency case?"

" _I'm taking as many precautions as I can. But you're the best man I know at avoiding traps and pitfalls; having you here as soon as possible for consulting and diagnostic purposes would be invaluable._ "

The blonde sighed, and took the cigarette from between his teeth, stubbing it out in the small glass ashtray that sat upon the table next to the phone; it was almost overflowing with soft ash and old, forgotten stubs. "Right." He said, almost to himself. "First off, I'm gonna need a shower."

And with that, without even wishing Sebastian Michaelis goodbye, Bardroy Atkins-Brown hung up, stretched, and headed for the bathroom. He was _definitely_ going to need a shower.


	2. Part Two: Finnian McCinnes

**.:SUBJECT 13'S BUTLER:.**

 _ **-His Doctor, Recruiting-**_

 **PART 2:**

 **Finnian McCinnes, Intern.**

* * *

Finnian wouldn't have said life was a breeze. Wind blew through life, definitely, but nothing was as simple, as wonderful, and as pure as a breeze when he considered life on the whole.

School? He'd flown through it, stepping straight into university the year after graduating from high school at the astounding age of fifteen. Being a child genius, he'd whipped through his high school years far quicker than his peers, and had graduated alongside students three years older than himself. Top of his class in every subject, his intellect was beyond anything any of his teachers had ever known. It made him hard to approach; he knew that, even though he did his best to be as friendly as possible. The other students thought he was just mocking them.

But all Finnian had ever wanted was friends.

His childhood had been horrible; adopted from a very young age, Finnian had grown up in an orphanage in Northern Ireland until he was eight. Even then he'd been too smart for the other kids, the caretakers at the orphanage would say. Too clever and no one wanted to play with him because of it, no matter how hard he tried to join in. He'd been signed off to a foster home when he turned nine, but none of the families that had taken him had kept him for very long. There had always been something not quite… _right_ to him. From then on, he'd gone from one home to another like a badly addressed parcel. It wasn't as if he didn't try to be good – he did his utmost but there were things about each family that spooked him. All it took, in the end, was one call to his caretakers at the orphanage and they'd take him back, with a sigh and a shake of the head, before letting him stay for a few weeks. Then it would be off to yet another foster home.

The cycle continued until he had turned fourteen, which was when he'd graduated high school (he insisted on as much 'normalcy' as possible – regardless of being an orphan he attended a public school with normal students and normal teachers and normal classes, not the close-knit group of other orphans who had lessons with the caretakers in the dining hall). Once high school was over, he'd moved straight off to a university in England, settling into his little on-campus room with three housemates on the floor and hoping for a brand new fresh start. But even then, making friends had seemed impossible. They brushed him off with excuses of homework and study that needed doing. In the end, Finnian had resigned himself to believing that he'd never connect with anyone. He hand-fed a few of the birds that came and sat in the tree outside his room's window, and while they were the closest thing he had to anything remotely resembling friends, they couldn't talk back; they couldn't ask him how he was doing, they couldn't offer him any advice.

He made his way through his six years of university completing his medical degree very, very alone. Once again, his incredible intelligence had earned him great grades and marks, and he was the best student any of his lecturers and tutors had ever taught according to some, but in the end his achievements were only recorded on papers. Papers that were so easily lost, or crumpled, or ruined or burnt. Nothing concrete that anyone really remembered about him other than he had no friends.

His medical degree had scored him an internship – but by then, hope of a fresh start was really starting to wear thin. He found himself not looking forward to his first day on the job, with the other interns who had also been accepted. The Karnstein Children's Hospital was an incredible facility with only the very best of doctors and staff; competition to get anywhere would be extremely high, and Finnian felt perhaps vaguely half-heartedly about even trying.

Three weeks, he spent, watching and even sometimes working alongside registered doctors and nurses. An intern's job was to watch and learn, and to put that learning into practice. He heard many things from many people, and quickly came to see a hierarchy among the one-site doctors. There were those who took orders from the older, more experienced, and there were those who were more respected than even the more experienced. And the most appraised man was the man everyone seemed to treat like some sort of deity – Finnian had only seen him, briefly, once or twice, and he'd never been close enough to get a good look at the man, and even though most of the staff and even the patients adored him, there were other doctors who reviled him. He didn't know the doctor's name, but he'd heard him called the 'Devil Doctor' often enough.

Needless to say, every intern in the same program as Finnian all wanted to get some sort of contact with this man. Anyone who did was bound to go far just by mentioning to a future employer that they'd had him look their way. Finnian himself, on the other hand, was always far more interested in the actual work – he'd long ago given up on trying to associate with the others.

Imagine his surprise, then, when the Devil Doctor had breezed into the ward one morning where Finnian had been tending to the children occupying each hospital bed, doing his best to offer them each a smile while he gave them a quick examination. Finnian didn't see the man walk in – but the children did. Suddenly, they were all sitting upright in bed, beaming and singing out a good morning cheer, and Finnian whipped around to see the tall, pale-skinned doctor smiling cheerfully and replying with a gentle, almost sing-song laugh. And then, the Devil Doctor had turned that smile, that soft, kind smile, to Finnian.

"Good morning, Intern McInnes; may I call you Finnian?" he inquired, presenting a lollipop to each of the children before returning his attention to the stunned blonde in the traditional green intern scrubs.

"O-oh, uh, sure!" Finnian couldn't find the strength to pull his saucer-wide eyes back to their normal size. "I-is there something you need, sir?"

"Actually," the Devil Doctor replied. "There might be, yes."

 **-** : -

"W-where are we going, sir?"

"I'd like to introduce you to someone," The Devil Doctor, who had introduced himself as Doctor Sebastian Michaelis, said simply as he strode down the whitewashed hallway, Finnian in tow. "I feel you might find a special connection with them."

Finnian gazed up at this man. This tall, lanky man who couldn't have been much older than twenty-four, maybe. This man had been a fully registered doctor since he was twenty! Finnian had only _just_ finished his degree and he'd barely turned twenty-one! Just how high, he wondered, was Dr Michaelis' intellect, that he might have also flown through his school years faster than his peers? Did he also feel the unfair loneliness that accompanied being without anyone on his level to befriend and share an understanding with?

Gazing up in wonder at the doctor, Finni completely missed what was said by the man as they headed down the corridors. "Um-what? Sorry."

"I said; I'd like to know your goals. Aims in life. What you wish to accomplish and what you want out of life." Doctor Michaelis repeated, not even sounding a little miffed that Finnian hadn't being paying attention. Finnian paused momentarily, but it was long enough for the doctor to notice; he stopped and turned back to Finnian, whose mind was a roller coaster of jumbled thoughts. He hadn't thought about that before…not really, not after he'd more or less committed his life to his studies. He'd given up on having hopes and dreams.

"I…I don't know." He replied truthfully. "Um…I guess…I'd like to help kids that are sick…you know; that's why I'm aiming to be a doctor. So they can go home to their families and be happy."

Sebastian Michaelis raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh? Is that what would make _you_ happy?"

Was Finnian happy? Had he worked so hard just because he had nothing else? What did he _want_?

"I…I guess so."

"Your file says you grew up without a proper family." Dr Michaelis said quietly, his voice gentle. "You're a very strong lad to be so eager to help other families without one to call your own."

 _Family_.

Finnian blinked hard. He wanted, more than anything, to have someplace to call home. Somewhere he could spend time with people who actually gave a damn about him. Somewhere he could enjoy himself, care for others…how had he ever thought working with children who would only be in care for a certain period of time before leaving would satisfy that desire?

"I guess…I mean…" he mumbled, feeling heat build up around his eyes – oh no, he was going to cry. He didn't like crying – and he _certainly_ didn't want to cry in front of this man. This man with so much power and influence. Scrunching his eyes shut, Finnian wished he could be anywhere but here – a million miles away.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Finnian looked up – Doctor Michaelis offered him a kind smile.

"I know it's hard," he spoke softly. "But the person I'd like you to meet is in need of a good heart to care for him. Much like yourself, he needs a friendly face to greet him every morning. His spirits are low, and I cannot always give him my full attention. I've seen you in action, Mr McInnes – you're an outstanding intern. The internship program will soon be assigning interns to the wards; I'd like to offer you this chance to be assigned to my ward; the ward housing the child who needs someone like you."

"Me…?" Finnian breathed. "But why…?"

"I've seen how you handle the children in the other wards; you do your utmost yet receive nothing in return. Fussy children who won't take their medicine; won't co-operate with examinations. I promise you, my current charge is in need of someone who can pay him more than ten minutes of attention at a time. Your duties as an intern will extend to a certain point, but after that, you're free to do as you wish. I'd like to ask of you, if you wouldn't mind getting to know him, giving him something to look forward to. It's important for a child to have a family away from his own."

Have a family…

"W-will there be any others working in the ward?" Finnian asked, and Doctor Michaelis nodded.

"Yes. I've engaged a nurse and I'll be calling upon an old friend of mine who's returning from New York later this week – I went through medical school with him and with you in addition, I think we'll make a fine family for the boy in our care."

The smile on the doctors face was sincere, and his eyes watched Finnian carefully; in turn, Finnian wasn't sure how he felt. What was this feeling? Hope? A chance like no one had ever given him before? This was…

"…Of course, I can't expect you to say yes right away." Dr Michaelis was saying. "I understand it's important that you're comfortable with the working atmosphere and the patient; if you don't get along then there's no point in forcing you to do something you'll only come to be unhappy with – "

"I'll do it."

Doctor Michaelis paused, looking a little surprised.

"You will?"

Finnian gave him the biggest grin his could muster – there was no way, he believed, that he could pass this opportunity up. A family? Maybe not the closest, but people like him who he could work side-by-side with and get along with? He may never get another chance like this in his life.

"I'll be the best intern you could ever hope for!" he nodded, and the Devil Doctor broke into another smile, before clapping a hand on Finnian's shoulder and beginning to steer him down the hallway again.

"Excellent. Come then; I'd like to introduce you to your newest charge. His name is Ciel Phantomhive, and I have a feeling he's going to like you very, very much."


	3. Part Three: Mey-Rin Maddigan

**.:SUBJECT 13'S BUTLER:.**

 _ **-His Doctor, Recruiting-**_

 **PART 3:**

 **Mey-Rin Maddigan, Nurse.**

* * *

"I must say, Nurse Maddigan, your skills without the use of a microscope are incredible."

She whirled around, shooting to her feet and sending the chair she'd been sitting on crashing to the floor. It made a sharp, loud clatter – the only sound apart from the sudden heavy audibility of her own breathing, and the mysterious voice which had penetrated the darkness beyond the light of her work station.

Scanning the shadows, she saw the outline of a figure. He was tall, and he was lanky – a slender man only visible because of her unique and utterly freakish eyesight; he was clad all in black and had she been anyone else, she would not have seen him.

"Who are you? What do you want?" She growled, standing defensively in front of the layout of equipment before her. There were petri-dishes with samples of DNA resting in them – vials of liquid and a Bunsen burner with a flickering blue gas flame. This was her life's work – who was this man, intruding upon the only quiet hours of the night she had to really focus all her attention on her biggest accomplishments when the day was done and no longer did she have to comply with the menial tasks of a menial nurse? What did he want with her, and how exactly did he know she did not need a microscope?

He stepped forward, until the lower half of his body emerged from the shadows and stood in the dim glow that was the very edge of where the light from her desk lamp touched the polished linoleum floor. "I am a man with a curious interest in your work." He replied simply, and she could hear it in his voice; he was laughing at her.

"How dare you!" Maddigan snapped. She reached behind her for the handgun that was lying to one side of her desk; she kept it on her in these small hours after midnight, in case some unwanted guest such as this bastard happened to wander in here. She'd never had to shoot anyone yet – the rare occasion when someone _had_ interrupted her had been resolved quickly and simply; she'd only ever had to reach for her weapon and they'd be scuttling away from her secluded laboratory, tail between their legs. "Leave me alone!"

"I'm sorry," he stepped forward again, and more of his body was revealed – it looked as though he was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, and black jeans that were tucked into a pair of calf-length black lace-up combat boots which clad his feet. He wore a black denim waistcoat, tattered at the hems, over his shirt. "I did not mean to sound mocking. Your work is truly a sight to behind, if you don't mind the pun."

Maddigan wanted to close her eyes and will away the irony that stung her like a bee – this man had a way with words. How old was he, anyhow? How did he know to find her here?

"Why have you come here?" she snarled, her hand finally finding the cold steel of her handgun. She drew it up to eyelevel, aiming it directly at him. He didn't move an inch. Was he blind? How the hell could he not see her aiming the gun right at where his head would be? "I demand you leave, right now."

"You specialize mainly in DNA splicing, don't you?" he asked, offhandedly, as if he were merely asking about the weather. "But there's more. You're also doing side experiments of artificial cell replication, am I right?"

Maddigan froze. How…how did he…

"I've been curious about works like yours for a while, Nurse Maddigan – you're not a fully fledged doctor yet you possess the assets and skills to become one; You have the incredible skills of a geneticist yet you remain working in a children's ward, where your access and time for such endeavors of yours are restricted. I do not understand your motives, but I would like to ask something of you."

She tried to relax – his voice was soothing enough, but she dared not give in to letting her guard down. She'd had many people try and sweet-talk her throughout her life, and not one of them had succeeded. This man would be no different.

"What exactly do you want…?" she ventured cautiously, and she saw him shift from one foot to the other – not in an act of nervousness, but simply as if he were tired of standing to one side, and was making himself more comfortable by shifting to the other.

"You'd be able to explore the vast realms of your research much more thoroughly, Nurse Maddigan, and you would not have to do it covertly. You'd receive training in the field of a medical team member, and be working with a few other hand-picked, highly-skilled operatives of your caliber as well as myself." He continued. "In addition, you'd also be supplied with a private room and facilities for yourself."

Narrowing her eyes, Maddigan felt a twinge of suspicion. "I'll ask one more time. Who are you?"

There was a pause, and then the man stepped forward into the dim light. Maddigan found her hands falling, her gun lowering, her eyes widening.

This was a man rumored to be a God in the field of science and medicine. She'd be able to tell it was him from ten miles away – the way he held himself; arms held loosely by his sides, back straight, head high. His eyes were crimson in the light of the lamp, his frameless glasses reflecting the light back at her. He held her abnormal gaze without a hint of concern for the fact she could have easily killed him by now. His air was confident; he had already won her over.

"You're the…you're the Devil Doctor…" she breathed, and he nodded, stepping closer, until he was standing just a foot away. Maddigan nearly stumbled back against her desk; she could feel a tremour in her legs. The Devil Doctor reached up, almost caringly, and brushed some of the red bangs of hair from her eyes, revealing their unnatural slant and extraordinary nature.

"That I am. And I would like you to join my medical team." He said simply, his lips curling into a soft smile, and he held out his hand for hers to shake. "You may call me Sebastian Michaelis."

Maddigan swallowed, but before she accepted his hand, her eyes scanned his face – there was something wrong. His demeanour was calm and confident, his smirk almost unnerving – but there was something…something not right. His eyes gave it away. They were brimming with concern behind that knowing look that made them spark with something dangerous.

"What's the cost of this? Why me?" she asked, keeping her voice low even though she knew fully well there was no one else around to hear them. No one was ever down her at this time of night except for herself.

"There is a child who needs your help." The Devil Doctor replied. "His immune system is suffering, and his body is unable to recreate the right amount of cells necessary for him to recover well enough before he once again looses grip on what little health he has. I need an expert in a field like yours."

Her eyes widened. "A…child?"

"Yes. He is currently my charge; assigned to my care after my skills were sort out by his desperate parents. However, I am not a professional in matters like cell replication; you, on the other hand, have an extreme talent for it. Your compliance could save his life."

Save his life. This man, the Devil Doctor, was said to have an untouchable heart, she had heard others say. No one got near enough to him to ever know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He didn't reach out to just anyone – her heart skipped a beat or two as she realized that this was probably a huge blow to his pride to reach out to her like this. That he was admitting that he was not as good as she was. That there was someone whose help he needed. Needed to save a life. A life that, quite obviously, he cared very deeply for.

"What's this patient's name, and where's he situated?" she asked carefully, and the Devil Doctor's smile broadened just a little.

"Oh, he's a patient here in the Karnstein's Children's Hospital, kept in a more secluded and private ward," Doctor Michaelis said easily. "And his name is Ciel Phantomhive, son of Earl Vincent Phantomhive. Welcome aboard the medical team, Nurse Maddigan."

Maddigan felt herself smiling, and something akin to hope welled up in her heart. This was her chance to continue her work without fear of being shut down for conducting the work behind the backs of her superiors; if the Devil Doctor was overseeing her work, then the officials could not touch her. And, she'd be doing more to actively help children in need – one child in particular. Yes. She knew of the Phantomhive boy. He was indeed the son of a rich aristocrat, but she had never been up to the private wards of the Children's sector before, thus she had never had anything to do with him. But she'd heard the others doctors. They said the child was a lost cause. They said a lot of things. Maybe, just maybe, she could prove them wrong. She, along with whoever else this man kept as close companions, could prove them all wrong and make a difference. She reached out and shook Sebastian Michaelis' hand, her smile growing.

"Please, just call me Mey-Rin," she said, and the Devil Doctor's eyes smiled like his mouth at her acceptance. "Where do I begin?"


End file.
